


your poison's addicting, your body’s distracting

by voxofthevoid



Series: Forsaken Beloved [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Consensual Sex, Dubious Ethics, Emotional Manipulation, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Mild Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Overstimulation, Switching, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: "You're mine. I may not love you but you are mine."Hannibal tries to do what’s best for himself. He doesn’t quite succeed.~In which love isn’t black and white but the darkest shades of grey.





	your poison's addicting, your body’s distracting

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up three years late with Starbucks* 
> 
> Yo, ‘sup?
> 
> I KNOW I KNOW THIS IS RIDICULOUSLY LATE. Honestly, I’ve had this sitting on my laptop for three damned years with all but the final scene written. I was never going to finish it but was suddenly seized by a mighty need to do it today. So, um, here, have more pain!
> 
>  _Important_ : This was previously tagged MCD but it was an accident. Repeat, an accident. I've removed it now.

"I would like to call off our arrangement."

 

It's a struggle to say the words with no inflection, to strip off the emotion suffocating him on the inside so that his voice will not betray him. And perhaps it's cruel to them both to do this here, during dinner, where the memories of many other meals that led to _more_ are painfully palpable. Hannibal feels all too acutely the now familiar pricks of pain at the sight of the other, as intense as ever despite the months he's had to become accustomed to the bitter reality of his feelings and the lack of reciprocation.

 

A part of him wants Will to feel even a fraction of that pain, and is only too willing to suffer a little more for it. Vindictive but true. Yet, the rest of him wants to erase the words that were just uttered and run as far away as possible from this conversation that he himself has initiated.

 

A curious paradox but he is used to them by now.

 

Will merely stares at him, an indecipherable look in his beautiful blue eyes. The rest of his face is blank, frozen in absolute neutrality.

 

"Oh?" Just a single syllable, in a tone matching Hannibal's own. It's fascinating how one can say so little and mean so much.

 

Hannibal shrugs with a nonchalance that he does not feel, aware that it won't fool Will for even a moment. For all the long hours he spent rehearsing precisely this, the words die in his unnaturally dry throat. Hannibal directs his gaze to the mostly untouched food on his plate, seeing only a jumbled blend of colors.   The carefully planned words refuse to come out, the excuse - the lie - he prepared fleeing his mind in an embarrassing display of weakness.

 

"I can't-," His voice stutters to a stop and Hannibal sucks in a deep breath, returning his eyes to Will with determination. "I believe that the cessation of our sexual relationship would be better for me both mentally and emotionally. It's no fault of yours, of course. I'm afraid I made things far too complicated for myself."

 

There's a certain pleasure in saying the truth, however dressed up in pretty terms. Pride would never allow Hannibal to simply say, _I am in love with you_ , after what happened the last time he confessed to the same, accidentally and without thinking.

 

"I understand," Will replies, softer than before but giving away just as little. Hannibal tries to read him, roves his gaze over the familiar lines and creases of a face that he so adores. Disappointment is there and the barest hint of anger, which is not as surprising as it should be. No confusion or sympathy. Will was never as oblivious to Hannibal's sentiments as he pretended to be.

 

A mournful smile curls his lips at the thought and Will tracks the motion dutifully, a faint frown marring his brows. The silence that descends on them is fraught with a tension that is drastically different from the pleasant anticipation that generally reigns between them. And knowing that he made the right decision does not stop Hannibal from feeling regret at the loss of what they had.

 

"I think I'll avoid our therapy sessions for a few weeks," Will tells him, holding up a palm to halt Hannibal's automatic protest. "Just for a few weeks and then I'll be back. I think some space would help us settle into our old roles."

 

It's a logical suggestion and Hannibal finds himself nodding in acquiescence. But an eerie sort of disquiet fills him nonetheless. He cautiously watches Will, searching his face for his thoughts, only to encounter a mask that is firmly fixed in place.

 

They don't finish dinner, hunger deserting them both. Will makes up a flimsy excuse to leave and Hannibal does not question him, escorting him to the door instead with heavy steps.

 

And when Will whispers, ' _One last kiss_ ' and crushes their months together, he does not hesitate to drink in the taste of the other with unchecked desperation.

 

 _I'll miss you_ , he thinks but does not speak. The words are as dangerous as the man who leaves him with a tender kiss that hides the poison within.

 

~

 

Weeks pass and Hannibal goes through life with mechanical precision, striving obsessively to lose himself in weary repetition. He listens to his patients' woes with affected attentiveness, fakes whatever emotions they expect from him with nary an effort, cooks food with the same loving care as before and remains unsurprised when his appetite steadily declines.

 

At night, he dreams of Will. Visions that are far sweeter than reality ever was. Life and love and happiness. Warmth and affection. He cherishes those precious moments right after waking, when the images remain fresh and pristine in his mind.

 

Will's presence in his life was painful for the last few months, like the piercing pain of a thousand thorns dragging against his skin, agony welling in the gashes they leave. But his absence is worse, a suffocating nothingness that threatens to overtake Hannibal every second of every day.

 

He often contemplates leaving altogether, going far away and starting afresh once more. He knows he will never do it, because that would mean leaving Will behind forever and he's not ready for that. He's unlikely to ever be ready for that.

 

Perhaps he could join Mischa in Australia for a while but the thought of explaining his predicament to her kills that idea with record speed. It's easy to pretend over the phone that everything is fine.

 

In spite of himself, he feels impatient for Will to resume therapy. Better to have the man in his life in some form rather than miss him so deeply beyond the bounds of reason.

 

And sometimes, when his barriers are lowered by wine and longing, he imagines that Will misses him too, that he's spending lonely nights in Wolf Trap with a glass of whiskey and memories of heated touches and tangled limbs.

 

~

 

Hannibal doesn't purposefully alienate himself from the rest of society but it happens nonetheless. He has always found a certain peace in solitude and it is only natural that emotional duress has made him retreat into himself.

 

He knows, though, that it needs to stop. He can't mope around like an overdramatic teenager indefinitely.

 

And that's partially why accepts Beverly Katz's enthusiastic invitation to her birthday party, a small but cozy affair with only a few friends attending. Hannibal is strangely honored to be included in the group. Beverly isn't quite a friend - he doesn't have many of those - but she is certainly more than an acquaintance, someone whom he greatly respects and enjoys the company of.

 

At the very least, the usual amusing antics of Jack's science trio are sure to distract him from his increasingly despondent mood.

 

It is Alana who greets him at the door to Beverly's house, stunning in a simple blue dress, a radiant smile spreading across her face at the sight of him. He hugs her in greeting and is led inside to decently sized living room where the others are already gathered, a queer assortment of people, most of whom are already indulging in the generous amount of alcohol arranged.

 

And instead of seeking out the birthday 'girl', Hannibal's gaze settles on the other reason why he's here.

 

Will is as breathtaking as ever, clad in his usual attire of jeans and a dark flannel shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of pale collarbones. Hannibal's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding in response to the sight that he so desperately craves.

 

Cerulean eyes meet his, widening in what appears to be surprise. Will recover easily enough, smiling cordially at Hannibal and turning away with a nod of acknowledgement.

 

Hannibal resolutely ignores the hopeless tightening of his chest and makes his way to Beverly, forcing his mouth to stretch into a convincingly cheerful smile.

 

He spends most of his time in a corner, watching the others while nursing a drink and struggling to keep his eyes off Will with little success. It's a small party, comprising of just Beverly, Brian, Jimmy, Alana, Will, Beverly's partner Seth, their brother Adam and Hannibal himself. Jack was invited but couldn't attend because of some work-related emergency. Hannibal makes a bit of small talk with everyone except Will who studiously avoids him and quietly makes himself scarce when the drinks start disappearing at an alarming rate and tongues loosen up to an embarrassing extent. Will is nowhere to be seen among the small group. Hannibal assumes that he must have said his goodbyes and left. Will never was one for socializing.

 

Will's abrupt absence stings, a sharp and resonating ache that has become familiar in the last month or so. Logically, Hannibal is aware that minimizing contact with the man until he has stabilized is the best course of action. But then, his feelings have never had much of a sound basis in logic and he doesn't think that that is about to change anytime soon.

 

It is only the uncharacteristic reluctance to return to his house and its cold loneliness that prevents Hannibal from leaving. Still, he drifts away from the celebrating crowd, silently prowling through the house and slipping out into the backyard via the kitchen.

 

For a moment, he believes himself to be alone. And then, a harsh intake of air from the lone figure sprawled on the ground a little to his right startles him.

 

"Will," he breathes, the name slipping out against his will when his eyes adjust to the low light. "What are you doing here?"

 

Will chuckles, raising the bottle in his hand in answer.

 

"Trying my best to get drunk." There's a slight slur to his voice, the sounds running together carelessly. "I was surprised to see you here today."

 

Hannibal only nods, mentally shaking off the swift flare of panic. Of courses Will couldn't possibly know that Hannibal came here hoping to see him. For a moment, he hovers in the doorway as if to flee back inside but closes the door instead, stepping forward firmly. Will rises from where he was sitting with his back against the wall, leaving the bottle on the ground.

 

"How are you, Will?" Hannibal asks, not quite succeeding in keeping the concern and the... everything else out of his voice.

 

"I'm alright. Kinda. Miss our sessions. They were helpful." Hannibal nearly flinches at the words. He isn't sure if the other is referring to the actual therapy or the rest of it. Or both. He takes a step towards Will without meaning to.

 

"We can resume. You know I'm always ready to accommodate you." Not merely ready but eager, almost desperate to have Will back in some capacity. _Missing him_ with a gut-wrenching intensity that sucks all vitality out of life.

 

Will hums thoughtfully, a familiar sound, and then stumbles when he tries to move, upper body lurching forward precariously. It's natural for Hannibal to catch him, wrapping one hand around Will's bicep to steady him, the other clamping down on his shoulder to provide support.

 

The proximity hits him like a storm, the scent and heat of Will assaulting him without mercy, unleashing a torrent of memories. It worsens when Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's middle, leaning his full weight against him.

 

"I missed you as well, you know," Will murmurs, lips brushing Hannibal's jaw with every movement. "Your company." He seems decidedly unconcerned by their sudden closeness. The opposite, in fact. And against every scrap of logic left within his bones, Hannibal pulls the other closer until they're pressed together from head to toe.

 

It's Will who kisses him, the feel of his mouth as familiar as it is hurtful. And Hannibal gives in, as he always does to this singular man, parting his lips and groaning in pained relief when a skilled tongue invades his mouth, mapping him from the inside as if he owned him. Delightfully rough hands frame his face, holding his head in place while Will ravages his mouth, Hannibal returning the kiss with just as much enthusiasm.

 

Hannibal breaks away for air, momentarily regaining some semblance of clarity and attempts to push away from Will.

 

"No, Will, we can't-" It's pathetic, really, how weak the words are, how fragile the conviction to step away and leave is. And whatever strength he may have possessed dies a tragic death when Will responds with another kiss, wet and deep and filthy, eradicating all thoughts in Hannibal's brain. He stops acting and just starts reacting.

 

This time, it's Will who pulls away after what feels like an eternity. Their heavy pants sound obscenely loud in the cool evening air.

 

"I-" Hannibal starts and then stops, unsure what to say. His head is still buzzing.

 

"We should go back inside," Will tells him, looking at the closed door instead of Hannibal. "They might be wondering where we are."

 

He takes off immediately, shouldering the door open and leaving it like that. Only once Will has vanished inside does the abrupt absence of his drunkenness strike Hannibal.

 

He looks at the bottle of whiskey on the ground. It's full.

 

~

 

The dinner party is meant to be a distraction, something taxing that is sure to monopolize his focus. It works, the familiar preparations take his mind off everything else at least for most of the time. It doesn't completely stop him from replaying the incident during Beverly's birthday party on a daily basis but it haunts him less relentlessly than before.

 

He struggles over the decision to invite Will but it isn't much of a choice, in the end. Though he really should know better, the helpless craving inside him only grows stronger, the need to see Will rising along with it.

 

But despite his destructive hopes, Hannibal is still surprised when Will actually shows up.

 

He cuts a stunning figure in a smart dark suit, perfectly tailored to emphasize the lean lines of his body. With his normally unruly curls tamed, brilliant blue eyes unhindered by wiry glasses and face deliberately devoid of its perpetual frown, Will appears much younger than he is.

 

Hannibal has only seen Will dressed up once before, many months ago, and the memory of impatiently stripping the man out of it just enough to fuck him against the wall of his office flares bright in Hannibal's mind, the raging desire he'd felt then echoed in the now.

 

And from the faint smirk that curls Will's lips when Hannibal greets him, it's clear that the other is all too aware of what he is thinking.

 

Dinner itself goes without a hitch, though Hannibal keenly feels Will's eyes on him during the entirety of it. It is far too tempting to return the favor and he keeps wondering why on earth he's putting himself through this strange limbo between decisions, why he broke off their arrangement only to then refuse to let Will go. But that implies he had something of a choice in the matter when the truth is that he didn't, not really, and probably never would, not when it came to Will. He tried and can keep trying, but this man is in his blood and his bones, an infection that has no cure.

 

The evening is a blur. He smiles and laughs and talks but his focus is scattered. It’s onfusing and aggravating. Ducking into his study, away from the plethora of faces, Hannibal admits to himself that he is running away, too unsettled to coolly endure the pointless chatter of his esteemed guests. He only intends to take a brief break to breathe and get his head in order but then the door is pushed open and the last man he should face right now enters the room.

 

The air seems to be sucked out of the room, leaving in its place an eerie, suffocating pressure. Hannibal watches Will in a daze, vaguely noting that he appears distinctly predatory as he stalks his way across the room towards Hannibal, azure eyes blazing with something indefinable.

 

The kiss is both expected and shocking, the full length of Will pressed intimately against him and the confident hands holding his head in place feeling utterly surreal. Hannibal yields without a thought to what he is doing, overwhelmed by the sudden assault of sensations- of lips, tongue, teeth and heat. He allows Will to push him against the wall with a quiet groan, reacts with unfettered cries when his cock is stroked and brought to life with sure hands, closes his eyes to simply feel without restraint when warm wetness encases his hard length with savage skill.

 

Hannibal murmurs Will's name like a forlorn prayer as the latter brings him off with his mouth, brutally pushing him towards orgasm. It overtakes Hannibal, mind and body, within minutes, a red-hot throbbing that steals his breath and parts his mouth in a plaintive keen.

 

And then Will is there again, kissing Hannibal and sharing his taste, rutting against him in uncontrolled jerks. A moment later, Will gasps into his mouth, the sound low and beautiful, and ends the kiss, stepping away with a smile that is not entirely pleasant despite the softness of it.

 

They don't speak.

 

The words will only shrivel and die.

 

~

 

Hannibal takes his eyes off the road to throw a worried glance at Will, uneasily noting the profiler's tense posture and the pained expression twisting his visage. Though he can't see them, Hannibal knows that the other’s eyes are blank and unseeing, just like they have been since the morning.

 

Hannibal understands only too well the reason, as he too had been privy to the crime scene that sent Will into this state. A young couple, both women, mutilated beyond belief, strewn around like grotesque decorations around the pale walls of their modest apartment. But Will clearly had seen more than just the surface carnage, for the man who emerged from the usual reconstruction was only a shade of the Will Graham he knew. The strangeness persisted through Will's breakdown of the killer's mind and Jack's subsequent drilling.

 

And it was enough to pierce through Hannibal's intense confusion regarding Will and prompt him to drive him to Wolf Trap, knowing instinctively that the last thing Will needed just then was to be alone. Even now, near the end of the considerable drive from Quantico to Will's little farmhouse, Hannibal finds that his concern for the other dominates over the scathing mess of emotions that have been plaguing him for days.

 

"We're here," he announces gently, hoping that the unnecessary words would rouse Will from the trance he's fallen into. He receives no response, not even a minor twitch. Lips thinning with worry, Hannibal reaches over to touch Will's hand where it rests limp on his lap.

 

Will sucks in a sharp breath at the light touch, swiveling his head to stare straight at Hannibal. His hand grabs Hannibal's with more strength than warranted, crushing it in a death grip.

 

Hannibal does not let his discomfort show, instead clutching back at Will with as much strength as he is able. He keeps his eyes locked on the other's until the wild light in Will's eyes tapers down into something more recognizable.

 

"Come, let's go inside."

 

Will follows Hannibal into the house silently, shoulders slumped and eyes at half-mast, appearing _lost_ \- adrift in the hostile sea of his own mind. Not even the pack of exuberant canines seems to evoke more than a subdued smile from their master.

 

It's with a feeling of deep unease that Hannibal goes into the kitchen after seating Will in the living room, intending to make some tea. It's distressing to see Will like this, devoid of the fierce spark that smolders in him, the same that drew, and continues to draw, Hannibal to him like a moth set on its own destruction, one that keeps on returning though he's been charred by the fire over and over and over.

 

He doesn't hear Will follow him, too lost in his own bleak thoughts, and is caught off guard by the hand that roughly spins him around and hauls him forward until he's pressed against Will, not even an inch between them. The kiss borders on violent and reeks of desperation but Hannibal reciprocates without hesitation, reacting on instinct. Will trails hot kisses along his chin, frantic and fleeting caresses. Hannibal almost misses the words hissed between them.

 

"Han- I need- oh god, please. Fuck me. I don't- I'm- I need to feel like myself. Help me. Please."

 

"This isn't a good idea, Will," Hannibal groans, pawing at Will despite what he just said. Will just arches into Hannibal, his panting exhales hot on his ear. Teeth sink hard into Hannibal's lobe, pain warring with pleasure, and whatever reluctance he had left dissipates, his own desire blending with Will's frenzied lust to form a torrent of sheer need.

 

They somehow stumble back the way they came, both wrapped around each other and all but blind, and crash bodily into the mattress in the living room. There's no finesse to the way they tear off clothes, pulling and yanking until they're spread out bare. Hannibal crawls down Will's body to take his half-hard cock into his mouth, licking and sucking until the flesh sits swollen on his tongue, the weight and taste of it wonderfully familiar. Will threads his hand through Hannibal's hair, thrusting up into his mouth in barely controlled movements. Hannibal relaxes his throat and takes in as much as he can, struggling against his gag reflex as Will pushes in deeper.

 

He can faintly hear Will murmur, pleas and praises all running together in a scrambled mess, Hannibal's name whispered delicately in between the words. He holds tight to Will's hips, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, and swallows Will's length completely until his nose his pressed to the dark strands of hair at the base. His throat works around the heavy length, convulsing helplessly even as Will cries out, his body twisting on the bed.

 

Hannibal keeps sucking Will determinedly, one hand detaching from his hip to fondle his balls. With each second that passes, Will's sounds become louder and more urgent, until he finally comes with a wrecked scream, hot jets of come shooting down Hannibal's throat. He drags his lips over Will's limp cock when he pulls away, letting the head slip out of his mouth with a final, lingering suck. Will whimpers, twitching weakly on the mattress. Hannibal just drinks in the view of him, sated and spaced out of the pale grey sheets, effortlessly gorgeous and so very endearing.

 

That old ache spreads inside him again, feelings that have no true place in this odd relationship of theirs rearing their heads. He startles back into himself when Will reaches over to touch his thigh.

 

"Fuck me," he tells Hannibal, calmer than before, his voice no longer filled with a dangerous edge.

 

The preparation is minimal, and it isn't long before Hannibal is poised over Will's prone figure, pushing into his welcoming heat with a delighted sigh. Will hooks one leg around Hannibal's waist, opening himself up wider, and Hannibal thrusts all the way in, their hips slotting into place perfectly. They move together in harmony, deep strokes interspersed with shallow thrusts, moans and sighs rising to disturb the quiet around them. It's soft and unhurried, unlike the earlier rush and Hannibal finds that he enjoys the intimacy of this, the quivering illusion of a connection deeper than what they really have.

 

He comes inside Will with a shuddering breath that's swallowed by the other, who strokes his back through the throes of his orgasm. They kiss lazily for some time and Hannibal is stricken when a breathy 'thank you' is whispered against his lips.

 

Later, when he prepares to hunt for his clothes where they're scattered on the floor and furniture, Will tugs him back into bed, offering no words, only a penetrating glance.

 

And though he shouldn't, Hannibal follows him, as he always does.

 

~

 

Will does warn him a week before, providing Hannibal with just enough time to erect whatever barriers the other hasn't ruthlessly torn down to prepare himself for resuming their therapy.

 

As always, Will is right on time, standing outside in a pale pink shirt, his coat folded neatly in his arms. He turns around at the sound of the door opening and the timid grin he offers Hannibal melts something inside him.

 

"Never thought I'd ever say this, but I missed these sessions."

 

Hannibal nods in acknowledgement of Will's words, biting back the unnecessary remarks he'd have responded with had the patient been anyone else. But with Will, there's virtually no need for fruitless platitudes. They communicate during these hours with an easy grace that Hannibal views with envy, wishing forlornly that it translated to the mess that is their personal relationship.

 

Will wastes no time settling into his usual chair, legs splayed wide in a manner reminiscent of the very first time they'd shared their pleasure in this office, when Will had bewitched Hannibal with a few words and an inviting smile. It was uncomplicated back then. Just lust and attraction.

 

Looking back now, Hannibal thinks that maybe he should have seen it coming. The way Will fascinated him from the first time they laid eyes on each other, the warm affection that only increased with each subsequent meeting... it was inevitable that he'd fall if given half a chance.

 

A cool hand on his cheek halts the bittersweet twist of his thoughts and Hannibal is startled to see Will standing a mere foot in front of him. He hadn't even noticed Will leaving his chair.

 

"What's wrong?" Will asks, the query a mere breath on Hannibal's mouth. "You're thinking about us, aren't you?"

 

"There is no _us_." Hannibal says grimly, trying to twist his face away from Will's hand only to be immobilized by two large palms on his cheeks.

 

"But you want there to be, hm?"

 

This time, instead of trying to get away, Hannibal pulls Will closer until their bodies slam together. He roughly catches the other's mouth in a punishing kiss that brings Will arching against him, gasping Hannibal's name with such sweet fervor.

 

"You're the one who keeps coming back," he whispers between kisses, biting hard at the moist lips and sucking greedily.

 

"You're no better. You let me have my way, each and every time. You never try to stop or push me away."

 

The truth of that claim slices deep even as Will thrusts his groin against Hannibal's, the contact drawing sharp breaths from them both. Phantom pain flares deep in him once more, echoes of events past merging with the too-real insanity of it all. Still, it is not enough to stop him from pushing Will towards the chaise lounge, guiding with his body while claiming that grinning mouth with another ferocious kiss.

 

Will's legs hit the edge of the sofa and he topples backwards, Hannibal following him down with a little more finesse. He rises up to his knees, pulling at Will's clothes with angered impatience, tearing a few buttons in his haste. Will seems content to lie back and let Hannibal do as he pleases, though the look in his half-closed eyes whisper only chaos.

 

It is a coveted pleasure to see that serene expression shatter when Hannibal grips his cock in a grip that is harder than it should be, to watch those beautiful blue orbs widen and flutter helplessly with each dry stroke, to hear the stifled sounds slipping past kiss swollen lips and _know_ that in spite of the serrated exchange moments before, _Hannibal_ is the one reducing him to this writhing mess of blind need.

 

Hannibal pumps Will roughly, mercilessly, allowing his other hand to roam over the bared expanses of smooth skin, tracing the dips and lines of Will's body with an adoration that he can't rein in. Will clenches his fists against the soft cushion, head thrown back and teeth gritted, shoving his hips into Hannibal's hand with noises that may as well be born of pain as pleasure.

 

He lets his quiet anger translate into the brutal strokes of his fist, bringing Will off with a cruel focus that forces the other to squirm and arch under him, aborted pleas dying on his tongue. Hannibal wets a finger with his tongue and unceremoniously thrusts it past the tight ring of muscles at Will's opening, reveling in the choked cry it draws from the man. He works the finger in fully, zoning in on Will's prostate and brushing the little nub insistently.

 

Will comes then, shouting out wordlessly, his lean body twisting and curling on Hannibal's hands. Hannibal raptly watches the tortured expression on his visage and feels his fury shimmer down into something less potent.

 

He climbs off the sofa and waits with his back to Will, absently listening to the rustling of fabric from behind.

 

"Hannibal," came the tentative call, Will's voice holding a lovely horse quality to it. It's amazing, how something can hurt and entice so spectacularly at the same time.

 

"Please leave, Will. I need some time to think."

 

For some time, there is no response, no movement from the other man. Hannibal fears and hopes with equal intensity that Will will try to stay but then there are soft footsteps in the direction of the door, and the muted click that indicates that he's well and truly alone.

 

A single curse, vehement and despairing, cuts through the thick silence of the room.

 

~

 

It takes only a couple of days for Hannibal to organize the trip. Mischa is ecstatic to hear that he'll be visiting and his patients are amenable enough, wishing him the best of luck when he cites a non-existent family emergency as reason for cancelling all appointments for two weeks.

 

He doesn't tell Will until the morning of the flight. Even then, he only leaves a message. Some may call it cowardice but Hannibal knows that if he were to lay eyes on Will, his resolve would crumble. Already, doubts are creeping in.

 

It makes him wonder whether he's fallen in love or willingly trapped himself in a lethal nest of thorns that bleed him with each cruel caress.

 

~

 

The expression of unbridled joy on Mischa's face when she sees Hannibal serves to soothe his unpleasantly churning mind. It's truly a delight to see her after over two years of phone calls and video chats that consistently fail to even compare to the bright reality of his dear little sister.

 

He easily blames his lack of cheer on exhaustion from the long journey and guiltily feels glad that they no longer share that soul-deep connection of their childhood that allowed them to read each other's mind with little effort. It dissolved with time and age, as their lives took them in two distinct paths. He's always mourned that bond though, or at least he did until Will Graham came around.

 

It's a struggle to not be morose and withdrawn throughout the duration of his stay with Mischa but he manages, more for her sake than his. But his sister's infectiously cheerful presence does help, worming under his guard and lightening his countenance through gentle persuasion.

 

He doesn't tell her about Will but he comes close a number of times. What halts his tongue each time is his certainty that he will not be able to accurately explain what he feels in terms that will be able to satisfy his logical, rational Mischa. He cannot explain in words the kind of love that threatens to consume him in his entirety, a love that is fire and ice and earth and thunder and the asynchronous beats of two fractured hearts.

 

He cannot. And so he does not.

 

Nonetheless, it is unexpectedly relaxing, these two weeks, and though Will hovers like a seductive shadow in the recesses of his mind, the presence isn't an unbearable pressure as it often was.

 

By the time he kisses a tearful Mischa goodbye with palpable regret, Hannibal feels more at peace with himself than he has in months.

 

~

 

Resuming his normal routine is only mildly jarring. He wasn't gone too long and most of his patients appear to be quite fine, with the notable exception of one Will Graham who fails to show up for his appointment, much to Hannibal's simultaneous worry and relief.

 

He does not call him, forcibly stopping himself from reaching out yet again. It's hard, of course, given how his heart continues to choose to function so foolishly independent of his mind, but Hannibal clings to the sliver of clarity he earned while with Mischa, constantly reminding himself of the anguish he experienced in the past year.

 

He _will_ be better off without that man. With a little more time and distance, he may even manage to let go of this tortorous love for him.

 

Even though Hannibal often wonders if he truly wants to let go. Worryingly often.

 

The confrontation is inevitable, of course. He’s known that ever since the plane landed, has secretly longed for it from the depths of his soul.

 

Still, it is no less of a frigid shock to open the door one cool Saturday night to see Will in his doorstep, the sight of him burning into Hannibal with a merciless reminder of how he's missed this man, no matter how hard he tried not to. Hannibal stands there, frozen, mouth slightly parted in surprise, and drowns in cobalt blue eyes filled an unusual spark, one born of anger.

 

"Will," he whispers, blinking once in an attempt to throw off the inertia that seems to have settled over him. He can't bring himself to look away from Will's eyes. The other cocks his head to the side, one corner of his mouth quirking in a humorless smile.

 

"Hannibal." As if jolted back to reality by the sound of his name, Hannibal unfurls from where he was rooted to the floor and takes a step back, inviting Will in with a smooth wave of his palm. Turning him away was never really an option anyway.

 

But instead of brushing past Hannibal as he usually does, Will takes a few steps forward until he's well into Hannibal's personal space. With a playful smile that contrasts oddly with his cool gaze, Will presents him with a single, red rose and Hannibal wonders just how distracted he was that he didn't even notice the flower in the other's hand.

 

He stares at the flower, uncomprehending, for what feels like an eternity, until Will laughs, the wildly inappropriate sound breaking Hannibal out of his trance.

 

"What is-"

 

"This is what you want, right?" Will speaks over Hannibal's intended query, raising the hand holding the rose to gently run the velvety bloom over his cheek. Hannibal shivers at the sudden sensation, lips parting against his will in a sharp exhale.

 

"What I want?" He tries to step away but his body refuses to obey, remaining frozen as if held in place by invisible bonds.

 

Will chuckles, the sound lapping sinfully at Hannibal. The rose is popped to the floor and he's pulled into a rough embrace, intimate but non-sexual.

 

"Us. You want an _us_. A relationship with me."

 

Hannibal closes his eyes for a quick second, stealing himself for the turmoil that is certain to ensue.

 

"I did want that, yes. You clearly felt differently."

 

Lips softer than the crimson flower press against his cheek, strangely tender and all the more disconcerting for it.

 

"Liar," Will breathes, "You _still_ want. You've tried to stop though, haven't you? Again and again and again.

 

The kiss isn't exactly hesitant but either is it hard and insistent like Will's usually are. He ghosts his mouth over Hannibal's, eyes wide open and trained on his. Hannibal does not even attempt to move away, knowing himself too well to even entertain the notion that he’s capable of pushing Will away with any finality. Instead he holds his stance, tense and rigid, and allows Will to caress his lips with gentle warmth.

 

"I won't let you stop," Will states abruptly, the words brimming with fiery confidence. Hannibal opens his mouth to ask what he means only to be silenced with one of those vigorous kisses, scalding in their passion and too thorough to not be distracting.

 

It's almost a daze, the familiar slide of their bodies, the heat and sweat and fire all convalescing to send Hannibal into an eerie trance that ultimately leaves his body sated and his mind tired, the confusion and frustration temporarily thrust to the background. Will doesn't chase his own pleasure, merely curves around Hannibal instead after bringing him off with hands and a devious mouth. He seems to sense the lethargy tugging at Hannibal, and he doesn't even speak, just catches Hannibal's swollen, sensitized lips in a final kiss and whispers goodnight.

 

As he drifts off into an uneasy slumber, Hannibal hears the words spoken soft against his ear.

 

"You're mine. I may not love you but you are _mine_."

 

~

 

Hannibal wakes to a slick slide of a tongue past his lips and warm hands roaming his bare skin. His surprised gasp is swallowed by the mouth covering his, their kiss deepening until Hannibal has to clutch at the body pressed to his own with desperate hands.

He never questions who it is.

It can only ever be one person.

Will’s teeth suddenly dig into his lips, the sharp sting sending a shiver down his spine that drives away the last vestiges of sleep. Hannibal’s eyes finally open and find themselves locked on blue drowning in black, Will’s gaze a heated brand on him.

Will rolls on top of Hannibal, the weight of him solid and welcome, and continues kissing him as if he plans to devour Hannibal with the sheer force of his lust. He lets him, opening up to wet lips and cruel teeth with resignation and elation both.

The first touch of cold fingers against his hole is a shock, drawing a strangled whine from his throat. He doesn’t even know how Will found the dexterity to lube up his fingers when Hannibal feels like his brain is melting in his head but he spreads his legs anyway, taking in the first digit with gritted teeth that are soon pried open by his partner’s insistent tongue.

Will doesn’t waste any time, opening Hannibal up with a haste that borders on pain, skillfully distracting him with open-mouthed kisses along the line of his jaw and down his throat. It’s Hannibal who pushes Will off him and rolls onto his stomach when the fingers slide out of him with finality, raising himself on to hands and knees that shake with the sweet terror of anticipation.

Will’s cock is hard and thick as it breaches him, shoving all remaining air from his lungs as he struggles to adjust to the intrusion. Will doesn’t stop, pressing and pushing until his hips are flush against Hannibal’s ass. It’s too much too fast, his muscles protesting the rough stretch after long weeks of only his own fingers probing inside, but Hannibal relishes the throbbing pain, rutting back against Will with all his might.

There’s none of the gentleness Will had displayed before here; his length is ruthless as it pounds into Hannibal at a punishing pace, ripping out moans and gasps from him as if they belong to Will as wholly as the pleasure throbbing through Hannibal’s veins.

It’s Hannibal who comes first, spilling into the tight fist of his own hand, and collapsing on the bed, Will promptly pinning him down and snapping his hips with renewed figure, fucking Hannibal through the first shudders of overstimulation and beyond. He’s a shaking, whimpering mess of a man by the time Will spills in him, splashing hot inside Hannibal, another claim that’s nowhere near as deep as the insidious claws that have dug into his heart.

Only once he’s splayed boneless on the bed while Will cleans him up with a warm cloth and gentle hands that he recalls the words he heard before he fell asleep.

“Will.”

The man who’s the biggest mistake and biggest blessing of Hannibal’s life looks up at him, gorgeous blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Hannibal’s heart flutters in his chest for reasons that have nothing to do with his recent exertion.

“I love you,” he declares, bold and defiant, voice unwavering despite the ice spiking his blood.

Last time, Will hadn’t let him complete the phrase.

This time, Hannibal won’t let anyone take this away from him.

It’s his love to give and be ruined by.

And Will, beautiful and terrible beyond his wildest imagination, _smiles_.

“I know.”

That’s that.

He resumes cleaning Hannibal with single-minded focus and helps him into a robe in the aftermath. The whole thing feels so strange that Hannibal is propelled into remembering this is the first time he’s woken up with Will beside him.

Even that night in Wolf Trap, he’d woken to an empty bed and a floor full of dogs.

“Breakfast?” Will asks, carefully nonchalant. His stare is intent and hopeful.

Hannibal doesn’t think he’s asking about food.

“Yes,” he answers anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> WELL THERE. Sorry, again, for this being so late. I’ve been out of the fandom for ages. My writing has changed too. But still, I finished this best as I can and hope you like it.
> 
> Come yell at me in the comments!
> 
> Also feel free to point out mistakes because this has undergone minimal editing.


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